


Now My Heart Stumbles On Things I Don't Know

by eberbae (dustyjournal)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Angry Sex, Bottom Panarin, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, NHL Awards, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:23:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6716125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustyjournal/pseuds/eberbae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor is in Las Vegas for the NHL Awards. He wasn't nervous until he finds himself in a bar, seated beside Artemi Panarin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now My Heart Stumbles On Things I Don't Know

**Author's Note:**

> For the anon who requested this. 
> 
> Thank you to dandelionwhiskey for being the best beta ever! 
> 
> Title from “Awake My Soul” by Mumford and Sons.
> 
> Small note: alcohol is involved for both parties, so it’s possible that it’s dubious consent. I tried to demonstrate that neither regret it, but if you think it requires certain tagging, let me know.

Connor's not really sure how he ended up in this situation.

He’s sitting at a bar in Las Vegas, which is weird in its own right because the place is crawling with people who know that he's not old enough to be there. What's weirder is who he's sitting with: Hallsy and Ebs are on his left, no big deal, but on his right are Jonathan Toews and Patrick Kane.

And Artemi Panarin.

It's not like Connor knows anything about the guy besides his stats, but he feels uneasy whenever their shoulders touch. Artemi laughs with his whole body, so it's been happening a lot. Something about him just rubs Connor the wrong way.

It turns out Hallsy and Patrick (who insists to be called Kaner) hit it off during an offseason, so when they all met up in the hotel lobby earlier it was inevitable for them to all hang out. The NHL awards were the next day, so everyone already there was just letting off steam, and these guys were no different. Still, Connor was a little starstruck. Jonathan and Kaner have lifted the Stanley Cup, they've been to the Olympics, they have how many personal awards between them, they're just...wow. But they've been nothing but pleasant, talking about anything and everything.

Well, except the Calder.

Connor knows Panarin is his biggest competition, and he can’t seem to get over his intense ambition. It’s what’s gotten him to where he is, and it doesn’t help that every other question he’s gotten from the media is whether he thinks he could actually win. So, naturally, every piece of him is telling him to hate this guy, write him off as just another person standing in his way, but he just...can’t. Not completely.

The night carries on and they all get a good buzz going, and even Connor feels loose. He’s not drinking much because he’s trying not to draw attention to himself, but none of the guys mind.

Panarin’s English is really good considering how long he’s been in North America, but he seems to be best at insults. It makes Connor grind his teeth when Panarin makes a jab and others laugh, but it seems to be just Connor’s problem. (Maybe just because earlier he had pretended to not know who Connor was. It was weird thinking that he had spent so much time stressing about this guy only to find out that he had no idea who Connor was, until Panarin laughs and claps him on the shoulder. Sure, Connor’s never had the _best_ sense of humour, but he didn’t think it was worth Hallsy losing his breath over.)

They take another shot and it doesn’t sit well with Connor- in fact, the afterburn of the tequila makes him feel sick. He coughs and takes a sip of water, hoping nobody noticed, but of course the Russian did.

“What?” Panarin jibes, “tequila too much for little Canadian?”

Connor can’t help it; he breaks. The laughter of the others die as he storms out of there, thankful he kept his room key in his back pocket.

The blood is still pounding in his ears when he gets to his room, which must be why he doesn’t hear someone sneak up behind him.

“I do something wrong?” Panarin says, and Connor jumps.

He turns around and gives Panarin the most heated look he can muster. “Did you know following people is creepy?” He retorts, and gets a sick sense of satisfaction when Panarin bristles.

“I only try to be nice,” he bites back.

“Yeah, you’re doing a great job at it,” Connor replies as he finally gets his door open. He doesn’t slam it behind him, which he instantly regrets, because Panarin follows him in.

Panarin slams the door, though, and Connor suddenly realizes he’s angry as well. “I am sorry you sore loser,” Panarin says. “I will try to keep in mind for tomorrow.”

Connor can feel the flush rising on his cheeks; he can only blame so much on the Nevada heat. “You’re so sure you’re going to win the Calder, then?” He scoffs.

“Don’t really care,” Panarin says, highlighting the sentiment with a shrug. “Just want best to win.”

Connor feels like punching a wall. He’s never gotten this mad this quickly, and he knows Panarin is only doing this for the fun of it. He can’t think of anything to say so instead he takes a step closer, and he’s surprised when Panarin doesn’t budge.

“Who do you think you are?” Connor finally comes up with.

Panarin shrugs again, the asshole. “I am Artemi. You are Connor. We play hockey, good hockey. And tomorrow,” Panarin says, taking a sly step forward, “One of us win Calder.”

Connor loses any replies he had a second earlier, because Panarin is suddenly standing very, very close.

“What the fuck?” Connor breathes, but he realizes too late that he’s letting Panarin crowd him against the wall. Panarin’s cheeks are flushed, his lips full and pink, stretched into a toothy grin.

Connor wants to tell him to fuck off, to just leave his room and not tell anyone about this, but somehow that translates to him grabbing Panarin by the waist and spinning him around so it’s Panarin who’s shoved up against the wall. The air is charged and Connor’s frozen only inches from that smile, breathing hard and fast.

“Oh, little Canadian has fight,” Panarin whispers. Connor wants to point out that he’s in fact a couple inches taller, but he knows that’s not the point. Panarin’s egging him on, and Connor’s falling for every piece of it.

So, naturally, he pushes their mouths together, muffling the moans that escape by pushing closer to Panarin. They’re banging against the wall in a telltale way, but Connor doesn’t care because Panarin is a really, _really_ good kisser. Panarin’s hands tangle in Connor’s hair roughly as they grind against each other and it’s so much better than Connor had thought. He’s not inexperienced, but he never really went for rough. But now it’s working for him, so he rolls with it.

“Fuck,” Connor lets out as he slots his leg between Panarin’s. He can feel the hard line of Panarin’s dick at the same time his own erection gets some much-needed friction, and it gives Panarin the time to start nipping at Connor’s neck. Connor tilts his head back, letting Panarin get a better angle, and groans loudly when those nips become bites and hickeys that Panarin laves at with his tongue afterwards.

Panarin pulls back, smiling devilishly as he puts a finger to Connor’s lips. “Walls thin,” he play-whispers.

Connor appreciates the reminder, but he’s not about to let Panarin know that. “Oh, shut up,” he growls before he kisses Panarin again. They make out like that for who knows how long, rough and biting and getting Connor close very quickly, but he can’t help but want more. But is that what Panarin wants? Connor pulls back to ask as much only to see that Panarin’s eyes are dark and hungry, so what comes out instead is just one, flat word: “bed”.

Panarin complies immediately, pushing slowly past Connor and making a show of stripping his clothes on the short walk there. His body, seemingly slender when clothed, is actually jacked in every way a hockey player would be, and other places Connor didn’t expect. He’d have to ask what other sports Panarin plays- but that’s another time. Right now he’s caught looking at Panarin’s fantastic ass, which gets him a smirk when Panarin turns around.

Lying back on the bed, crossing his arms and doing nothing about hiding his dick standing almost straight up, Panarin says, “your turn.”

A wave of self-consciousness floods over Connor. This is happening really, really fast, and though he knows he has a good physique, he’s never stripped for anyone. He makes it as quick as possible, which doesn’t seem to bother Panarin in the slightest, and soon enough they’re back to making out and pushing against one another- except now completely naked.

It’s a whole different ball game, this scenario. His dick is suddenly _right there_ next to Panarin’s, and jolts of pleasure almost as strong as electric shocks rocket through him as they grind them together.

“Connor,” Panarin pants, and then there’s a hand around both their dicks and Connor bites Panarin’s lip almost too hard. They both gasp as Panarin starts on the downstroke, his calloused hand almost too much right away.

“S-stop,” Connor says, putting a hand on Panarin’s chest.

Panarin does what he’s told immediately. Connor meets his eyes and sees that they’re not just softer now, but also a little worried, and for some reason that’s reassurance Connor didn’t know he needed.

“Just didn’t feel right,” Connor tries to explain. When Panarin still looks confused, Connor tries, “too dry.”

Understanding crosses Panarin’s face, and he pushes Connor off him to go over to his jeans. Where he pulls out a couple packets of lube, because of course he does.

“Really?” Connor jeers.

“Also have this,” Panarin says, holding up a condom packet. He looks dismissive, but Connor’s mouth goes dry.

He must give away some kind of sign because Panarin brings the condom with him back to bed, putting everything but one lube packet on the bedside table.

“Get on back, I make good for you,” Panarin says smoothly, and as much as Connor wants to resist, he also wants to see what Panarin can do. So he complies, and his dick twitches when Panarin straddles him.

Panarin pours the whole packet of lube into his hand, and some drips onto Connor’s stomach. It’s cool and makes him shiver, but then he’s taken over by the wonderful feeling of Panarin’s hand starting up a steady rhythm, perfectly slick.

“Mmm, yeah, fuck,” Connor encourages a few minutes later, thrusting his hips to signal he wants Panarin to speed up. But Panarin only slows down with that same smile as before.

“Really?” Connor exclaims.

Panarin shrugs. “Handjob is boring.” He’s smiling, still moving his hand up and down, but Connor takes the bait. But he’s not going to ask anymore, no way. This is his room, his show.

“What if I told you to keep going, hm?” Connor asks. “What if I flipped you over and fucked myself into your fist?”

Panarin raises his eyebrows, and Connor hopes that what he said didn’t sound stupid. “You want control?” Panarin asks, “take it.”

Connor should have known it would be this way from the start. He does what he said he would, he spins them and pushes Panarin down into the mattress with both hands on Panarin’s shoulders. Then he secures Panarin’s hand back on his dick and thrusts into it, surprised at how much better the feeling is.

“Good, Connor,” Panarin praises, bringing Connor down to kiss his earlobe, his neck, his collarbone. Connor flushes at the attention, but he’s too busy getting himself off to care.

The realization that he’s leaving Panarin out to dry hits him like a freight train, and he stops moving immediately.

“What do _you_ want?” Connor pants, going for straightforward.

Panarin cocks an eyebrow, then directs his gaze to the condom. “What _do_ I want, Connor?” Panarin says.

Connor tries to swallow, but his throat just clicks. Fuck, he knows he wants it, they both do, but can he say it? He has to try. He has to.

Trying to make it easier on himself, he smiles and drops his mouth to the shell of Panarin’s ear. “I think,” he whispers, voice steady, “you want me to fuck you.”

He stays as stiff as a board in case he read the situation completely wrong, but only for a few short moments before Panarin takes his hand off Connor’s dick and gives Connor a quick peck on the cheek.

“Yes, Connor. Please,” Panarin says, but it sounds like the stark opposite to a true plea. More like he knows what he wants, and he usually gets it.

But Connor doesn’t want to think much on that right now because he’s grabbing for a packet of lube, knowing full well what has to come first. He snakes down Panarin’s tanned, admittedly gorgeous body, parting Panarin’s legs at the knees to give himself room. Panarin bends his knees and lifts his lower body just the slightest, exposing a perfect pink hole. Connor finds it easier to ignore Panarin’s dick now, though it too looks enticing, because he wants nothing more than to get inside Panarin and make him twist, writhe, say Connor’s name.

That doesn’t mean he can’t show some kindness, though. He grabs a small throw pillow nearby and wedges it under Panarin’s lower back, giving himself a better angle and taking some strain off of Panarin. Then he goes to work, putting some lube on just one finger, and slowly pushes it into Panarin’s body. Panarin bites his lip but only moans a little, arching up into the motion. It’s so damn hot that Connor’s dick gives a twitch, suddenly in need of attention, but he ignores it to instead focus on the man laid out under him.

“Good?” Connor asks. When Panarin meets his eyes and nods, gaze dark and expectant, Connor starts pumping that single finger. He loves the way Panarin responds to it, all desperation for more, so that’s what he gives him.

Panarin starts talking in Russian, and though Connor has no idea what he’s saying, it’s getting him going just as much as watch a thin layer of sweat break out over Panarin’s body. The words are short and breathy, and all Connor can do is speed up, add another finger, and leave small kisses up the insides of Panarin’s thighs. Fuck, his skin is so soft, so responsive, Connor can barely take his mouth away.

He’s embarrassed to admit that he can’t seem to find Panarin’s prostate, and doesn’t want to draw too much attention to it. So he adds a third finger, almost swallowing his tongue at the beauty of seeing that perfect hole take it just as easily, and hopes that’ll help. He’s going rougher, now, and Panarin is gripping the sheets like his life depends on it.

Panarin switches to some English swears -which aren’t nearly as hot, Connor thinks- and grinds down into Connor’s fingers.

“So greedy,” Connor says into Panarin’s thigh. He looks up to see Panarin staring at him with that familiar challenge in his eyes, and then Panarin’s grabbing Connor’s hand -the one currently opening him up- and angles it just to the right. And oh, _there_ it is, and Connor feels a wave of heat as he hears Panarin whine.

Connor keeps it up, just rubbing Panarin’s prostate as much as he can, imprinting the wonderful visual into his memory. But his dick is aching too much to ignore anymore, so he goes back to a firm rhythm, spreading his fingers as much as possible when they’re all the way in. He’s confident he’s opened Panarin up enough, so he pulls out (to his surprise, Panarin makes no noise of protest when Connor does so) and reaches for the condom.

Just the simple touch to his dick is torturous after all the neglect, but Connor holds back a moan because that would be even more embarrassing. He looks down at Panarin for the go-ahead, and sees that he’s managed to look both fucked out of his mind and completely in control. It’s all kinds of hot and it only makes Connor want to fuck him harder, so he leans down to give Panarin a quick peck on the lips before lining their hips up.

He slides into Panarin slowly. The tightness stretching around him is almost too much to bear, but he somehow survives until their hips meet. He could only imagine what it’d feel like if he didn’t spend so long with prep- just the thought of that gets him going.

Panarin reaches one hand back to grab the headboard almost instantly, holding himself steady as Connor rocks in with deep, hard thrusts. It’s like he’s letting out all of his frustration every time his balls smack Panarin’s ass, his lip already so swollen from the amount he’s been biting it.

Panarin’s gone quiet, eyes closed and head tilted away, and though Connor would usually see it as a good thing, their previous banter makes him worry.

“Good?” Connor asks, feeling a little stupid for doing so. He slows down a bit for good measure, and for some reason that’s getting him closer than before.

A smile spreads on Panarin’s face, and he blinks lazily at Connor. “Could be better,” he says.

Connor laughs, because of course that’s Panarin’s answer, and he leans down close so their noses are almost touching, still thrusting in deep and dragging his dick over Panarin’s prostate.

“And how could it be better?” Connor asks.

Panarin’s grin widens and he wraps his legs around Connor’s hips, holding him close in an act of strength Connor’s only known from hockey players. He then bites at Connor’s lower lip to bring him in for a kiss, and they start making out as harshly as they had been against the wall. From this angle, Connor can only make small pushes into Panarin’s body, effectively just rubbing over his prostate. He takes what he can get, because this is still very much doing it for him, and now he can even feel Panarin’s thick cock between their stomachs.

It’s weird, making out this much during sex, but Connor isn’t complaining. He can feel that familiar pool of heat at the base of his spine and he speeds up, finally letting himself chase that high. He feels Panarin’s free hand -the one that’s not still gripping the headboard- reach for his dick, but Connor bats it away. He can jerk Panarin off himself.

Panarin laughs against his lips, then moves to kiss down Connor’s neck again.

“Yes, Connor,” Panarin says, low and rough, and Connor’s suddenly _right there,_ right on the edge. His breaths speed up to low and shallow as his hips jerk erratically, hand moving waywardly up and down Panarin’s dick. He catches their mouths together and that’s it, he’s spilling inside Panarin, biting Panarin’s lower lip _hard_ as he does so. He feels more than hears Panarin’s groan as he follows Connor over the edge, and Connor’s mind is all sparks and static and bliss.

When they finally come down, they’re both breathing hard against each other’s necks. Connor pushes himself up and pulls out slowly, his dick giving a final twitch when he sees Panarin’s satisfied smile.

He disposes of the condom and brings back two warm, wet cloths. They clean themselves up lazily, then settle themselves into bed, Connor’s arm around Panarin’s shoulders. It’s a long time before either of them speak.

“You’re great, and had a better season than me, and you’re probably going to win. So there,” Connor says. He knows he sounds like some kid on the playground finally giving up a toy, but he’s too tired for this conversation.

Artemi blinks, then smiles wide. “You are very good, Connor. Win not matter to me. Not really.”

Connor shoves him, laughing, and then they’re both giggling and shoving each other like idiots until their exhaustion takes over and they relax under the covers.

The next day, when Artemi’s name is called, Connor stands up and claps. He tries (and fails) not to blush when Panarin makes clear eye contact with him, even mentioning him in his speech.

He congratulates Artemi afterwards, and they take some pictures together.

He gets a text later- just a kissy face and a drink emoji. He smiles, and replies  _see you next season._

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hi!](http://eberbae.tumblr.com)


End file.
